


the wind forgets, but the flame remembers

by sugarbug



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Magical Realism, im so sorry for being insane, implied side sakuatsu but i dont know what happened there i got off track, semi is a goth art nerd, taichi is a dragon shapeshifter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:29:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26807398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarbug/pseuds/sugarbug
Summary: taichi spends autumn managing his allergies, among other things.
Relationships: Kawanishi Taichi/Semi Eita
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28
Collections: Haikyuu Rarepair Exchange 2020





	the wind forgets, but the flame remembers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dazzletwig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazzletwig/gifts).



> hello dazzle !! i saw you said you'd be interested in stz pairings and i took that and ran with it!!! i hope you enjoy this, and thank you for your patience AHHH

The bridge between summer and fall always makes Taichi annoyed.

His allergies always peak right as the seasons transition, which leads to a lot of sneezing, which in turn leads to—

“Would you knock it off!” Kenjirou hisses at Taichi from across their table. The edges of his notes are singed from Taichi’s sneeze, and there’s a light smoke that’s curling through the air.

“It’s not like I _asked_ to have allergies," Taichi says. He rubs at his nose, sighing when he sees his fingers covered in soot.

Another sneeze follows a few minutes later, and Kenjirou’s eyes grow more murderous as the smile pile of ash between them grows taller.

Usually being a dragon shapeshifter isn’t a big deal, especially in a university filled with other unique and gifted students. However, he can’t exactly control how his body reacts to a high pollen count.

Kenjirou looks ready to ream him out again, but he stops short when two figures approach their table.

Taichi glances over, and oh _no_.

Kenjirou has developed somewhat of a reputation for knowing the best places to buy less-than-legal potion ingredients and magical artifacts. It comes in handy sometimes, especially when Taichi is in the market for a new amulet or some powdered elgeth berries, which are stupidly hard to find in grocery stores but make for the absolute _best_ hangover tea.

Unfortunately, it also means he always has a slew of buyers tracking him down to get the names of sellers and shop addresses.

One of these shady folks happens to be a longtime client, someone they’ve known since their freshman year of university. He dresses like the protagonist of a dark academia show, all black sweaters and tweed pants and chunky platform boots.

“I need the name of that shop you told me sells the treated white hallow flower. I’m going to end up needing way more than the pinch that you sold to me,” Eita says to Kenjirou in lieu of a greeting.

“Hey, Taichi,” he tacks on a moment later, as if he hasn’t been plaguing Taichi’s thoughts for the past three years.

“Hey,” Taichi replies smartly.

Kenjirou rolls his eyes, setting his pencil down and turning his attention to Eita, who’s leaning against the table. 

Beside Eita is a guy Taichi vaguely recognizes from an elective he took on runes last semester. His hair falls in gentle black curls around his face, and he looks like he could be a contender for out-scowling Kenjirou.

“I can’t just _give_ you the shop name. The owner would have my neck if I just started sending random people his way,” Kenjirou says.

Eita scoffs, and it’s become something of a routine. Eita asks for something, Kenjirou denies him, they bicker, and, finally, a resolution.

“You act like I’m some first-time buyer or something,” Eita says from beneath cross eyebrows.

“Just tell me when you need it by,” Kenjirou rubs his temples, “and I’ll see what I can do.”

“The end of the week,” Eita mutters.

“Fine.”

And, just as quickly as he appeared, Eita is gone.

“He’s obnoxious,” Kenjirou says, picking his pencil back up to resume his work. “I don’t know why you’re so grossly into him.”

“I’m _not_ grossly into him,” Taichi attempts to defend himself.

Can’t a guy find another guy attractive and charming for several years without it being a big deal? 

“Sure you aren’t.”

* * *

The other unfortunate thing about having a best friend who operates as a black market middleman is that sometimes Taichi gets roped into his stupid little charades.

Today he’s been tasked to deliver Eita’s order to him in place of Kenjirou.

“We need groceries, and I can’t trust you to buy anything that won’t give us forty cavities each.”

It’s true that Taichi struggles to eat well-balanced meals—being part-dragon results in quite the penchant for sweets—but he is capable of purchasing healthy food on occasions.

“No,” Kenjirou had reiterated when Taichi argued just that. “Plus, Eita’s gonna be pissed at me because the cost is way higher than I estimated. He’ll be less homicidal if it’s you breaking the news.”

So, that’s how Taichi finds himself trekking down one of the long hallways of their university’s art wing. It’s creeping into the evening hours, so most of the rooms are empty. But, towards the end of the hall, one is glowing with a faint light.

Taichi confirms the room number and pushes the door open slowly. Inside, Eita looks up, brown eyes as intense as ever. He’s wearing gloves and tenderly holding a cotton swab. The room reeks of chemicals and paint.

Spread out on the table before him is a massive painting, the colors swirling together in a fluid motion that has Taichi momentarily stunned.

It isn’t exactly news to him—he knew Eita was part of the art-restoration department. He’d just never seen him at work before.

Magical art restoration is tricky business. Oftentimes, there are hundred-year-old enchantments cast by the artists that make the pieces nearly impossible to restore. A strong knowledge of both ancient spellcasting and art history are imperative.

Plus, even if you manage to break an enchantment and have the opportunity to restore a piece, you’ll face a collection of other difficulties. The piece in front of them is a perfect example.

The paints were _moving_ on the canvas, remaining stationery just long enough to give the impression of a seaside landscape, but never staying in place long enough to easily meddle with.

“Wow,” Taichi says.

“Cool, huh?”

“Yeah.” 

Taichi takes another step into the room, edges just a bit closer to the worktable. The painting has to be over half his height, and he notices a gaudy golden frame hiding in the corner of the room. The painting itself is rich in cobalt blues and fiery oranges, a dash of gray sneaking in to create an ominous sky above the churning ocean.

“I, uh, assume you’re here to drop off my order?” Eita asks. He’s started to remove his gloves, and he gingerly caps a bottle of what Taichi can only assume is some sort of cleaning fluid.

“Uh, yeah.” Taichi digs around in his backpack, finally pulling out the parcel, which has been carefully wrapped in brown paper and fastened tight with string. Kenjirou is nothing if not precise.

He makes his way around the desk, handing over the order. Eita takes it, shuffles towards a desk towards the back of the room. Taichi hovers, feeling unusually awkward.

He likes to think he’s a pretty well-composed guy, especially considering he’s able to transform into a flying, fire-spitting beast the size of a townhouse. He’s hard to fluster, he’s been called witty, and he is usually able to keep his emotions in check.

Eita throws a wrench into just about all of that though.

He’s got a quiet, mysterious way about him that just makes Taichi feel like a stranger in his own body. Why is it so hard to ask him out? It’s not like Taichi hasn’t been on his fair share of dates. 

Perhaps he’ll never know. There’s just something mystifying about Eita that leaves Taichi with a dry mouth and empty head. How can someone be so cool and enigmatic and unfairly good-looking? It’s criminal.

“You can have a seat if you want,” Eita gestures vaguely at the handful of chairs lined up beside the lengthy desk. His hands are already busy unwrapping the order, examining the contents with a practiced focus. “I just need to make sure he got everything I ordered.”

Taichi takes him up on the offer, if only to occupy himself with a task instead of trying to think of something smart to say.

The desk is piled high with text-heavy documents, most of which seem to be documenting ongoing restoration processes. Taichi wonders just how long each piece of art takes to restore, how long Eita has been doing it, whether he does any original art in his freetime, whether his freetime is occupied by a significant other, whether—

It happens before he even has time to _think_ about stopping it, such an absolutely automatic bodily reaction. He moves to cover his nose, but it’s too late.

He sneezes, and with the sneeze at least half a dozen folders on the table go up in flames.

Similar situations have happened enough times that his instinctual reaction is to immediately pat the fire out with his palms and forearms, skin resistant to flames. The fires are out in a matter of seconds, but the damage is irreversible.

“It’s allergy season,” Taichi says meekly when he finally chances a look at Eita.

He’s still standing at the desk, but he’s no longer parsing through the order. Instead, he’s staring at the pile of scorched documents, wearing the most forlorn expression Taichi’s ever seen on a person.

“I’m so sorry,” Taichi says, standing and nearly knocking down another pile of files in his haste. “If I can help recover anything, or pay for damages or something—”

“Please leave,” Eita cuts him off, words low and careful.

Taichi isn’t about to test him, especially when he still doesn’t know what kind of magic Eita even wields. But he’s certain any chance of forging some kind of connection with Eita has also gone up in flames. 

He takes a deep breath and makes a beeline for the exit, not looking back once.

* * *

Taichi is halfway through his Theoretical Pyrotechnic Enchanting homework when Kenjirou gets back to their apartment.

“The fact that you managed to rile up Eita even more than me has to be some kind of miracle.”

Taichi is pretty certain the fact that he majorly embarrassed himself in front of the guy he’s been pining over for years is the only reason Kenjirou isn’t on the precipice of ranting about a botched delivery.

“Miracle is not the word I’d use to describe it,” Taichi sighs.

“I’ve told you a million times,” Kenjirou stalks into the kitchen, dumping the bags of groceries onto the counter, “If you’d just go to the doctor and get allergy medication, these kinds of things wouldn’t happen.”

Taichi groans, slumps back in his chair, and drags his hands down his face. Maybe he can manifest his way out of this situation, poor magical execution skills be damned!

Stupid medical student best friend. Frankly, at this point, friend was an ultra-generous word.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“You haven’t embarrassed yourself enough?”

Another groan from Taichi. He packs up his homework and ditches the kitchen for his bedroom instead, ignoring Kenjirou’s cackling behind him.

He’ll just have to figure it out himself.

* * *

Taichi has a pretty standard daily routine: wake up, stop at a cafe near their university, suffer through his strategically-scheduled morning classes, then either pass out back at their apartment or hunker down in the library until evening approaches.

The cafe he frequents is homey, and a few of the baristas know him by name. He’s ruminating on the Incident™ a few days later when he realizes he’s been standing in front of the cash register for at least thirty seconds.

“Um, just a medium iced coffee.”

The cashier nods, a slightly amused look on her face.

“And an iced vanilla latte with a good luck potion added,” Taichi tacks on suddenly. “And, uh, do you have any of those enchantments that keep the drink cold until you drink it?”

He’s not sure what he’s thinking as he arrives at his university, stopping to scribble a quick _sorry for sneezing_ on the side of the cup before speed-walking through the art wing hallways yet again.

When he reaches the now familiar room, he peeks underneath the door to make sure no one is inside. After confirming the lights are off, he cracks the door open and creeps inside.

The table where the painting had been laid out days before is empty, and the desk is considerably cleaner than it’d been when Taichi was last here. He heads over to the desk, looks for an empty space, and sets the cup down.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he reaches his class. He manages to put it _mostly_ out of his mind, not only for the duration of his Ancient Demonology lecture, but for the entire rest of his day.

That is, until he’s sprawled out on the couch, half-watching some gameshow, and Kenjirou takes a seat on his calves.

“Eita texted. Said he isn’t a big vanilla fan.”

“Is that so?” Taichi raises an eyebrow, the slightest smile appearing on his face.

“You’re so fucking lame.” Kenjirou pinches his leg, but Taichi is already thinking about his next visit to the cafe.

* * *

Over the next week, Taichi leaves another two drinks for Eita, both of which he receives commentary on through Kenjirou.

“How long are you gonna keep this up?” Kenjirou asks one night over dinner. “I’m sick of playing messenger for your weird apology.”

The next day, Taichi orders Eita an iced chickweed leaf tea, something to keep him warm as the weather edges further into autumnal territory. He writes what’s become a customary _still sorry_ note on the side of the cup, but this time he includes his phone number, along with a hastily scribbled _for more direct feedback_ underneath it.

He checks his phone an unhealthy amount of times for the rest of the day, finally easing up once he gets home. He’s reheating takeout leftovers when his phone lights up on the counter.

_Not a huge fan of herbal teas._

* * *

Taichi spends another two weeks leaving an assortment of drinks for Eita in his workroom, always careful to arrive early enough in the day that they won’t cross paths.

Taichi isn’t honestly sure when Eita shows up for any of his classes, but Taichi has been lucky enough so far. He’s pretty sure Eita has long since forgiven him, but Taichi is maybe even _more_ nervous to see him at this point.

He’s a little worried that this whole little charade has crossed from apologizing to quasi-flirting territory.

“You think buying him a coffee every other day is _flirting_?” Kenjirou asks when Taichi voices his thoughts one evening. “Honestly, he’s an even bigger dork than you, so maybe this does pass as flirting in his eyes.”

Taichi mulls this over. Eita is intimidating—dressing like he tends to a graveyard and wearing an unhealthy amount of eyeliner. Taichi has only seen him smile a handful of times, and they’ve really only had a few conversations since they met a few years ago.

But he _is_ an art student. And when has an art student ever been anything but dorky?

So, maybe Kenjirou has a bit of a point.

Still, Taichi doesn’t want to get his hopes up.

The next morning, he runs into a bit of a problem when he gets to the workroom that’s become a surprisingly comfortable stop on his usual route. It’s not like Taichi spends an exorbitant amount of time there when he’s dropping off Eita’s drink, but he’s fallen into enough of a routine that there’s a sense of belonging when he arrives each morning.

This time, though, when he opens the door, two strangers whip their heads around to stare at him.

Except they’re _not_ exactly strangers. One of them is the brooding guy Eita had shown up to the library with a few weeks back, the one Taichi had deduced was in his runes class the semester prior. He’s sitting at Eita’s desk, picking through files. They must know each other through the art department then, Taichi concurs.

The other guy is a stranger though, and he’s squinting at Taichi beneath a mess of bleached hair.

“Who’s this?” he asks the guy at the desk, as if Taichi isn’t standing in the room and perfectly capable of hearing them.

The guy— _Kiyoomi_ , Taichi remembers after he pauses to wrack his brain for the name—examines Taichi. He feels a bit like he’s under investigation, and he’s about to open his mouth to introduce himself and break the awkward atmosphere when Kiyoomi pipes up.

“You’re the one who’s been leaving Eita coffee each day?”

It feels almost accusatory, and Taichi feels the need to defend himself.

“It’s not always coffee,” Taichi says lamely, and he can practically hear Kenjirou laughing halfway across campus. 

The blonde guy snorts, which is maybe even worse because he doesn’t need a stranger laughing at the unfortunate simping situation he’s gotten himself into.

“Huh,” Kiyoomi says. “Well, just leave it wherever. He won’t be in for another two hours. Hope you’ve got a temperature-maintaining enchantment on it.”

He _does,_ he always does, but he doesn’t bother saying that. Instead, he simply drops it on a filing cabinet and leaves, as quickly and calmly as possible.

He’s in an alchemy gen-ed when he gets his daily text. It’s nothing important, just a mention that the iced sunflower seed mocha has been his favorite drink thus far.

Taichi sends back a quick _nice._ figuring that’ll be the end of it. Chances are Eita’s morose friend had painted him in less than charming light when they finally spoke.

A few minutes later though, he gets another text.

_Busy this weekend?_

* * *

“It’s not a big deal,” Taichi says on Saturday. He’s pawing through their fridge, searching for something he can reheat for lunch, even though he’s not sure he can stomach much of anything at the moment. “We’re just going to look at some art.”

“Who exactly are you trying to convince here?” Kenjirou asks from the kitchen table. It’s nearing noon, and he’s only just now crawled out of bed, slowly working through a bowl of Cap’n Crunch.

“No one,” Taichi grabs an apple hidden in the back of the fridge. “Because there’s nothing that needs convincing.”

Kenjirou has an awful way of speaking with his eyes, and Taichi ignores it as best he can as he leaves the kitchen, mindful to grab his keys and wallet before he shuffles out their front door.

He considers just flying to the address that Eita had sent, but he figures he’ll err on the side of caution and just take the subway instead.

Eita had proposed meeting up at a nearby gallery, where he’d assisted in restoring some of the pieces on display. So, here Taichi is, riding the subway to the gallery, taking the steps two at a time, and pausing at the entrance with his hands stuffed in his back pockets.

He’s rocking back and forth on his heels when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He spins around and sees Eita staring up at him, wearing a black turtleneck and brown corduroy pants, as if he’s just gotten back from a slam poetry event.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Eita _smiles,_ and Taichi tries to take a mental picture as quickly as possible. “Wanna head inside?”

It’s the first time Taichi’s actually seen him since the whole Sneezing-And-Setting-A-Bunch-Of-Important-Documents-On-Fire thing, and Taichi had almost forgotten how the mere sight of Eita alone left him struggling for coherency.

“Sure,” he finally manages.

The distance, frankly, had been good for Taichi’s well-being. He’d been able to create some kind of funny dynamic with Eita without actually seeing him face-to-face and making an utter fool of himself.

However, as they stroll through the halls of the gallery, that space appears to be rapidly disintegrating. Especially since Eita keeps stopping in front of displays without warning, leaving Taichi to nearly collide into his shoulder or back every other minute.

They’d been making small talk as they went, but that also comes to halt once they reach an all-too-familiar painting.

“Ah,” Taichi says, “This one.”

It’s the painting Eita had been restoring on that fateful day. It’s been reframed, and the colors are more vibrant than he remembers them being.

“This one,” Eita agress, and there’s something almost teasing about his tone.

“Is this some twisted way of making me feel even more embarrassed about causing a sneezeplosion on your desk?” Taichi asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Depends,” Eita hums. “Is it working?”

“Nah, you’ll have to try harder.”

“Guess you’ll just have to come by and light some more of my research on fire then, huh?” Eita tilts his head as he stares at the painting, and Taichi can see just the faintest dusting of blush across his cheeks.

He half-smiles, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Guess I will.”

* * *

After they’ve spent an hour or two perusing the gallery, Eita goads Taichi into showing him the cafe he’s been snagging all his drinks from.

It almost feels a bit sacrilegious to be talking about their cafe cup correspondence in person, but Taichi agrees, and they strike up conversation surprisingly easily during the fifteen minute walk from the gallery to the cafe.

The cafe, which has some French name that Taichi doesn’t bother trying to pronounce for fear of embarrassing himself, is nestled between a bookshop and an indie movie theater. They say goodbye to the brisk air and step inside the homey shop.

The atmosphere inside is warm, and it’s probably the least busy Taichi’s ever seen it. Granted, he rarely stops by in the afternoon or evening. This becomes even clearer when he doesn’t recognize any of the baristas on duty.

“You know,” Eita begins, “you’ve gotten quite good at guessing what I like, but I don’t have a clue what you always order.”

“Huh.” Taichi hadn’t even thought about that.

“So?”

“Oh,” Taichi runs a hand through his hair, “usually just a plain iced coffee.”

“What? That’s such a lukewarm order,” Eita teases.

“No, a lukewarm coffee would be a lukewarm order.”

Eita rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling again, which makes Taichi feel all gross and mushy inside.

“Why don’t you order for us this time then?” Taichi suggests.

Eita seems to mull it over for a second before agreeing.

“I think I’ll do a medium mint mocha, please.” Eita pauses to turn and look at Taichi, as if analyzing him will result in the perfect order. He turns back to the barista. “And a medium coconut and raspberry frappe.”

“Any enchantments on either of those?”

“No, we’re okay. Thank you though.”

Taichi moves to grab his wallet, but Eita is already ready with his card.

“At least let me pay you back,” Taichi says once they’re headed towards a table.

“You’ve been buying me, like, two or three drinks a week for what? Like, two months now? I think I can afford to take this one.”

Taichi wants to argue that those were _apology_ offerings, but the barista is calling their order at the bar.

Eita adds a quick “Besides, you can pay next time,” before standing and grabbing their drinks from the counter.

When he returns, Taichi is still repeating the sentence over and over in his head.

“Did I break you?” Eita asks, and when Taichi actually has the sense to look up at him, he looks just a smidge bit apprehensive, even if he had been attempting a joke.

This is different because Taichi was unaware that anything could shake the confidence that Eita wears daily. He wonders just how many other things there are that he’s yet to learn about the guy in front of him.

“Kenjirou had kinda mentioned that you might be sorta into me too,” Eita starts when Taichi still hasn’t had the sense to say anything. He bends his straw, chances a glance up at Taichi as he finishes with, “Maybe he misread things?”

Taichi takes a moment to process everything. He wants to be mad that Kenjirou was just sharing his personal details, but it’s hard to when—

 _Sorta into me too._ Too. Too?

_“Too?”_

“What?” Eita’s eyebrows furrow.

“‘Sorta into me too,’ as in, you’re _also_ into me?”

The anxiousness on Eita’s face melts, and he’s back to rolling his eyes.

“Now I see why you’re friends with Kenjirou,” Eita says. “You’re both absolute idiots.”

Taichi feels _good_ , and there are no enchantments in his drink responsible for it. Just a hot, weird art student who likes him _back_ and is staring at him fondly.

“You wound me,” Taichi deadpans.

He finally takes a sip of the drink that Eita has ordered for him. It’s sweeter than the drinks he’s used to getting, but the coconut and raspberry blend well together.

“What do you think?” Eita asks. 

Eita leans his head against his hand, and Taichi can only hope that this becomes a regular thing—spending afternoons listening to Eita rant about his favorite painters, testing out new drinks on each other, enjoying the chill of autumn air that drives people to walk just a _little_ bit closer.

“It’s good,” Taichi says, and he’s been trying to bite back a smile since this whole thing started, but he’s certain he’s been doing a terrible job at it. “You chose well.”

“Yeah?” Eita smiles back.

He drops the hand he’d been leaning his cheek against, inches it across the table. He reaches Taichi’s hand, tangles their fingers together. Taichi’s heart does about a million flips.

“Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> i initially started this because i wanted to do dragon shapeshifter kawanishi but then that just . didn't evne end up being mentioned much but ANYWAYS !! thank you for reading !!


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